by John F. Carr
“She’s gotten used to having you around, Kalvan. You leaving will be hard for her. Me, too!”
Kalvan gave Rylla a big hug, despite the “looks” from Demia’s nursemaids--protocol be damned, my family’s leaving without me!
Demia started to tug at the bottom edge of the Upper Middle Kingdoms’ deerskin map and one of the nursemaids rushed over, picking her up. Immediately, she started to bawl.
“Dysola, please take the baby to the nursery. The Great King and I have things to discuss.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Kalvan reached over and took Demia out of the nursemaid’s arms, giving her a big hug, then bussed her on the neck. She started to giggle between sobs, making a sound like a strangled hiccup.
“You go with your nurse, little one. Daddy will be come later to tuck you in.”
“Da Da.”
He smiled wanly. “Bye-bye.”
When she was gone, Rylla said, “She’ll probably be speaking Urgothi by the time you see her again.”
He nodded. “Dralm-damnit, I’m going to miss you both! I wish I could ferry all of us to Thagnor, but it’s impossible.”
“We’ll be fine. I’ll protect our people as best I can, with the Allfather’s help.”
Kalvan was sure Rylla would do everything possible to see they made it safely overland to Thagnor; he was also sure the Grand Host would do everything it could to make sure she didn’t. That’s what bothered him. He was taking the safe route, while his family, friends and subjects were in real danger. It rankled.
“We’ve got enough soldiers to protect our people. Besides, you’ve given me the better part of the army. Hestophes’ Army of Observation will act as the van for my Army of the Trygath. We have no better commander than yourself, my husband.”
He nodded. The plans were as good as they could be, under the circumstances; however, circumstances had a way of changing and the best-laid plans-- Stop! He told himself. He was more nervous about her leaving than he’d been before battle with the Grand Host. No need to turn into a Nervous Nelly--that won’t help anyone, will it?
“Besides Captain-General Hestophes, I’ve got General Alkides, Captain Nathros of the Sappers and Engineers, Duke Chartiphon and Prince Pheblon, who’s not much help in a fight, but he’s loyal. What about General Baldour?”
“He’ll be going with you, darling,” Kalvan said. She would need Baldour’s expertise on the Trygath and Middle Kingdoms.
“What about Phrames--is he going with you?”
The tone of her voice made it sound as if the Prince had a terminal illness. To her, Phrames was just another old woman--like her husband. Well, regardless, Kalvan was going to have to stop second-guessing his wife. With Harmakros and Verkan dead, she was his best commander and he needed her generalship--faults and all. Although, even he had to admit she was making a determined effort to “do as I do.” Whether that would last once she was out of the Port Ulthor city gates, well, that was yet to be determined.
“I need Phrames with me.” Kalvan said, “for some breaking and entering when we reach Thagnor City.”
“That’s fine. Phrames works better with you, my husband,” she added with a big hug.
“What about Prince Sarrask?” she asked.
“He will be with you,” he said with a feeling of relief. He didn’t dislike Sarrask, but his larger-than-life bonhomie was wearing, when it wasn’t grating. Plus, he felt obliged to always set a good example when around him, for fear that Sarrask would take one of his words wrong, like one of Henry II’s courtiers, and do serious damage--all the while thinking he was doing his Great King a favor.
“Good!” Rylla cried, rubbing her hands.
“You really like him, don’t you?”
She grinned. “Sarrask--or the ‘Improved Sarrask’--as you like to call him, has turned out to be a loyal vassal and a good co-commander. He’s one of the few Princes that has stuck by us--well, besides Phrames, and that’s not a fair comparison since you elevated him to Prince of Beshta.”
“What makes you so certain Sarrask’s all that loyal? Part of me thinks he’s just stuck around because we give him plenty of fighting, which is his favorite pastime.”
“Haven’t you heard?”
“Heard what?”
“About Sarrask’s brand?”
That was one of the problems with being Great King, everyone either assumed you were omniscient and knew everything, or went overboard trying to keep things from you. You certainly were no longer one of the “boys.”
“What brand?”
“Oh, it’s Styphon’s Own story! Let me tell you. It started after our loss at Ardros Field, when Sarrask returned to Hostigos Town. Everyone was frightened white of Archpriest Roxthar’s Investigation, as they should have been. Sarrask wanted to stay behind with the volunteers at Tarr-Hostigos and ‘keep it safe from those manure-eating Styphoni,’ as he calls them. You were still laid up with your wound, so I was the one who had to turn down his offer.”
“I remember some of that, but vaguely.”
“Afterwards, Sarrask rode off to the Silver Stag and went on a drunk that would have made Phydros, God of Wine, envious. Another officer, who was also deep in his cups, told Sarrask that he’d been refused because no one really trusted him. I later had the Colonel busted down to a petty captain, but the damage was done. To prove his loyalty, Sarrask had one of his armorers work up a special brand, then had himself tattooed on the arse with it!”
“What? Nobody tells me anything. What kind of brand?”
“One that identified him as a subject of Hos-Hostigos for the rest of his life. He had the Hos-Hostigos keystone permanently branded on his arse. His rationale was that if he was ever disloyal to you, my husband, that he would still be called a Hostigi and traitor to Styphon any time he undressed.”
Kalvan nodded. Drunks, they’ll do anything. Of course, this was a culture where those kinds of drunken statements got turned into legends, or ballads sung by troubadours.
“Half his bodyguard--also as drunk as skunks--had their bums branded, too. So you see, my husband, Sarrask has proven his loyalty to the Throne far beyond anything We would have ever asked.”
“It was dumb, but also kind of admirable. I’ll admit it.”
“Good, then you’ll agree that Sarrask should be rewarded for his loyalty, and for the losses he has suffered demonstrating that loyalty and fighting for the Fireseed Throne. After all, he lost an entire princedom.”
Yes, and we lost an entire kingdom. Where is Rylla going with all this and why do I have the feeling I’m being set up so she can reward her brother in mischief? “Yes, okay, he deserves some compensation.”
“Well, my plan is that after we besiege and sack Rathon City, I will invest Prince Sarrask as the new King of Rathon.”
“You’ll--what?”
“You’ve already agreed we were not going to let that traitorous dog that calls himself Nestros remain on the throne of Rathon--calling him a Great King is an insult to the name!”
“Yes, in principle. But the idea was to reward some local noble and have him rule with our support, thus ensuring his loyalty.”
“Ha! Loyalty that will blow away the moment our army leaves Rathon. You do not know the Trygathi as I do, husband. They are traitorous dogs, all of them. Maybe there are a few exceptions in Rathon, but, I ask you, how will We tell them apart? We can’t. So, We are better off rewarding one of Our own that We do trust and We can begin rebuilding our Kingdom in Rathon. It’ll be the first kingdom of Nos-Hostigos.”
New Hostigos, Nos-Hostigos in Zarthani, Neus Hostigos in Urgothi, that’s how it would translate. Hmm. Not a bad name, until we return home. For a while, I was afraid we were going to be like the Tsarist Russians in exile after World War I in New York City. That’s not for us, going to teas and receptions in Greffa City, talking about the good ol’ days.
“If Sarrask is your co-commander, how can you leave him behind?”
Rylla whooped for joy, ob
viously having thought out all his objections beforehand.
“I won’t. He won’t want to stay there, not while there’s the promise of a good fight, any more than we want him to remain behind. I’ll let him appoint one of his generals as Duke or Prince pro-tem, as you put it, with enough men to hold the City and orders to keep the Styphoni out.”
“Well, you’ve just stumbled across my next objection. What happens when Styphon’s House comes to town? Tell me that, my Lady.”
She smirked. “I’ll have some of our engineers stay behind and build your earthworks. You’ve always said that good earthworks would keep out any of our enemies. Did you not?”
He nodded. Rylla was right, some of those earthworks near the end of the Italian Wars had stopped the French Army dead in their tracks. With the cannons the French had used--not much advanced over the here-and-now guns--the French Army couldn’t breach the earthworks because the cannon balls just sank into the packed earth, leaving the stone walls underneath impregnable.
“You were right to remind me. As I remember, the walls of Rathon City are pretty impressive, even by Great Kingdom’s standards. With proper earthworks--and you’ll have the entire City to do your bidding--Rathon City could stop the Grand Host right in its tracks. Maybe even stub its toe. They’ll either have to spend six moons or more investing and laying siege, or pass it by. Which is what they’ll have to do if they have any hope of catching up with Us. An excellent stratagem, Rylla.”
She beamed. “Thank you, my King.”
“Come here, my Queen, I think I can come up with a suitable reward for your little plan.”
“Oh, please, my liege. Shall we go to your bedchambers?”
Kalvan laughed despite himself. It felt good for them to be working together again. And, anything bad that came to Nestros the False, he had bought and earned by his betrayal. Wasn’t there also a new High Temple to Styphon in Rathon City? Another hundred thousand ounces of gold for the Treasury.
“What’s taking you so long?”
“Hold on, I was just thinking how taking Rathon will help pay for the rebuilding of Thagnor City.”
THIRTEEN
Kalvan was poring over the revised muster roll for the Army of the Saltless Seas that Captain Mykos, his latest adjutant, had prepared when he heard a loud knock at the door. What now? he asked himself. He had clearly ordered Cleon not to bother him for anything less than the Greffan Fleet entering the harbor. The General Staff was busy filling the gaps in the Royal Regiments, which had been decimated by their losses at Ardros Field and during the retreat. A lot of experienced petty-captains were missing, and it was important to not only promote within the ranks but to fill those spots with the best qualified men. Mykos had made a number of recommendations based on interviews with the unit commanders.
The army had gotten so large that he was no longer familiar with more than a hundred or so of the names on the muster list; one of these days he was going to be one-hundred percent dependent on his General Staff. This was not a bad thing, as ruling half a million subjects was a full time job. Still, he missed the days when the army was small enough he knew the names of all the Hostigi officers and most of the noncoms.
The knocks were growing louder. “Who is it?”
“Me, Your Majesty!”
It was Chartiphon’s voice so he’d have to endure this interruption. The former Captain-General, now promoted to Chancellor to keep him out of the military chain of command, was downright old-womanish if not taken seriously.
The weathered face and sunken eyes were hard to recognize as belonging to the Chartiphon whom he’d met shortly after his arrival at Tarr-Hostigos. That man had been a warrior at the peak of his strength and abilities. The strain of the last four years of victory and success, then total defeat, had carved deep lines in his face.
“What is it, Chancellor?”
“Sorry to bother you, Your Majesty. I have a subject with me who brings a message and a prisoner that I’m certain Your Majesty will want to question.”
“Bring them both in.”
Chartiphon was trailed by a tall, handsome man with unusually well-preserved teeth, a heavy brow-ridge and a small van-Dyke beard, who carried himself like a nobleman although he was dressed far below that station. He was holding a chain and the prisoner at the other end was the biggest surprise of all! “What the Styphon are you doing with Prince Kestophes?”
“Your Majesty, allow me to introduce the Honorable Vinaldos, who has come to me with vital information both for Your Majesty and the Throne.” Chartiphon then turned to the taller man and nodded.
The man bowed. “Your Majesty, I discovered the Prince leaving his quarters in a most compromising manner. But, first, let me introduce myself, I am Vinaldos, formerly Count of Luxfurth, at your service!”
“I don’t have a lot of time since we’re leaving soon, so give me the high points of what crime the Prince was about to undertake.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I’ve known Prince Kestophes since we were children, trading blows with wooden swords. He was always stingy and blackhearted. We were great enemies! Sadly, he was destined to become Prince of all Ulthor, while I was master of a small fief at the edge of the Sea of Aesklos. When two of my merchant ships went down after a bad storm, times turned hard and I lost my estate. I traveled to Thagnor and even Greffa in an attempt to recoup my losses. After four years in the Middle Kingdoms, I returned to Ulthor Port and attempted to court the Prince’s youngest sister--”
“It wasn’t like that at all!” interrupted Kestophes, who seemed to have suddenly dragged himself out of his stupor. “This man’s a petty criminal. He’s always been a cheat at bones or dagger toss--and any other games. He was ordered to leave Greffa City for falsifying a shipping invoice. When he returned to Ulthor and I realized that he was about to marry my sister for her dowry, I interceded and, when he would not listen to reason, had him stripped of his title and thrown into the dungeon for a moon. I thought that might encourage him to leave, but I was wrong.”
“Hold your tongue, Prince, until I finish interrogating Vinaldos here.”
“But--”
“That’s an order. Disobey me again, and I’ll order Halgoth to come in and put his fist in your mouth!” As expected, that shut him up. Kestophes had been undermining Kalvan’s rule in Ulthor Port and whining about the loss of his palace, to the point where Kalvan wouldn’t have complained if this rogue had cut out his tongue, as well as put him in irons.
“Vinaldos, why did you put Our Prince in chains?”
“I have had men waiting outside his manor, hidden from the street, waiting for him to desert, Your Majesty. He was always a coward as a boy and I knew the man was still close to the child. My men and I found him leaving from a secret passageway with a saddlebag full of gold and jewels-- and these dispatches!” He held up a leather folder stuffed with parchment letters like a trophy.
Kalvan nodded. A ship from Morthron had arrived yesterday and one of Klestreus’ agents had spotted one of the crewmen surreptitiously entering the Prince’s domicile.
The Count handed Chartiphon a leather dispatch case.
“Let me see those documents.”
“No, Your Maj--”
“I’ve told you once to shut up. Do not test my patience again.” After taking the pouch from the guard, Kalvan didn’t need to read much farther than the first page to realize he was holding diplomatic dynamite. He leafed through the rest, which included the dispositions of all his forces, including the breakdowns by troop type of both the Army of the Trygath and his Army of the Saltless Seas. There were also documents in Urgothi runes that had the seal of Greffa; he didn’t need to be fluent in Urgothi to understand what that meant.
“You traitorous cur!” He hurled the empty leather pouch at Kestophes. “Halgoth, come here!”
Halgoth flew through the open door like a defensive linemen going for a quarterback sack. He looked disappointed when he found Prince Kestophes still in chains and Vinaldos with his h
ands up in the air. Vinaldos appeared to be as quick on his feet physically as he was mentally.
“Halgoth, take this traitor down to the dungeon.” Kalvan had to pause, his pulse was racing so hard. “I want this animal in the lowest, dankest cell you can find, and he’s not to have any visitors but myself and General Klestreus. Put two Bodyguards at the door.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Before you leave, Kestophes, I want to tell you this. First, you are no longer Prince of Ulthor or of anything else but the cell you’ll soon find is your new home--that is, if you’re lucky. I will send Klestreus to question you shortly. Answer him as you would answer myself. If you do not, your next visitor will be Great Queen Rylla!”
Kestophes’ mouth sagged. “Please, Your Majesty ...”
“Take this filth out of here, Halgoth, before I run him through.” Kalvan still found his hand wrapped tightly around his poignard long after his Bodyguard Captain closed the door. He took a minute to compose himself.
“I want to thank you, Count Vinaldos, for bringing this matter to Our attention. I understood General Klestreus had the mansion under watch. I’m surprised that he missed the former Prince’s departure.”
“Count, Your Majesty?”
“Yes, I’m restoring your title. Your lands will be of little use as they will shortly be under Lysandros’ dominion. We will find new lands to honor those subjects who have proven themselves to the Throne.”
“Thank you, Sire. Allow me to say, in General Klestreus’ defense, the exit that the Prince took was an underground tunnel and a bolt hole known only to a few friends of the late Duke, whose mansion and mistresses our former Prince quickly grabbed after Your Majesty appropriated his palace. Fortunately, I was a friend of the Duke’s, and suspected that our cowardly Prince might find it difficult to reconcile himself to life in exile. So, I set a guard to watch the exit and was not disappointed.”
“You will be rewarded for your foresight.” Kalvan thought quietly for a few minutes, pleased that the Count did not interrupt him with idle chatter. That was a very good sign. Vinaldos was hard not to like, but he was a con man. Useful, but dangerous too; like Duke Skranga, who might have been this man’s physical opposite but twin on the inside. How far can I trust him ?